A Bus Ride Through Life Anonymous

The little orange lights blink against the dark blue background, resembling the twinkling of stars at dusk. As the black rings of rubber rapidly revolving around the orbits of metal hubcaps come to a halt, a screech of protest is heard. The driver jerks on a lever. The motor lets out an exhale of relief and the double plexiglass doors open, folding like an accordion.

Stepping up the stairs with three quarters in hand, I encounter the wrinkled face atop the driver's seat, a face that looks at me listlessly and croaks, "Student?" I nod, deposit the change with three satisfying clinks and proceed to board. My eyes and nostrils are uneasily yet familiarly welcomed by jumbling sights and scents. I pass the woman who emanates the smell of cigarettes. Her mustard yellow hair and tawny teeth will later make an appearance in one of my paintings. I pass the man whose body odor stings my eyes and burns my nose. I imagine the brush strokes needed to depict the brownish strings strewn on the ground from his terribly tattered blue jeans. I advance to the back of the bus. I sit next to the career woman wearing a suit jacket a couple sizes too large and department store perfume. I will later paint the look of complete uneasiness combined with...